Mother
by Alitote
Summary: Paul's life hangs limbo, where his long dead mother offers him a choice: die and be with her again, or live and endure the excrutiating pain of his car crash?
1. Chapter 1

Funny thing about car accidents: they never work out favorably.

The drunk always walks away. The speeder never really gets to learn their lesson. The unlucky are always sitting ducks no matter what precautions they take. And the more likeable, well-known, or ready-to-gain from life you are, the bigger a target you become.

Or atleast, that was Paul's reaction when his Aston Martin met with a speeding grey Chevrolet. It was bad, it was violent, and it was far to quick for Paul to even realise what was happening until it was to late.

He'd been driving to the store, driving because it was a hot summer day, far to hot to comfortably walk anywhere in his opinion. It wasn't even for something all that important, he'd merely finished off the milk at home and thought it'd be nice to replace it before Mrs. Asher needed it for something.

Pulling out of the driveway, turning the A/C on full blast, he smiled contentedly as he drove, the cool air washing over him and for a moment, he could forget it was summer, pretend it was late spring and if he rolled the window down there would be the fresh spring oder wafting through his car.

He didn't even hear the Chevrolet's speeding tires, didn't register it was coming right at him until he made to make a right turn and the car was literally right at his passenger side window.

The car plowed into his with little remorse, driving as hard as it could into the red metal, bending and crumpelling it like red paper. The glass shattered from the windows and flying right for Paul as he lifted his arms in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Sharp, painful stings tore across his arms, shedding his jacket, and into his side, burying deep. Paul thought he screamed, his mouth open and the vibrations flying along his throat, but he only heard the overwhelming sound of crushing metal and a faint ringing underlying that.

The cars spun out of control, smoking and wrecked. Paul's head rested against the shredded headrest, laying awkwardly agianst the door. The whole dashboard had crumpled towards him and now his legs fit snugly in the small hole where the pedals trapped his feet.

Light was all Paul could really see, dark shadows moving around in it but nothing solid.

Oh... It was all he could think as he watched the world literally crash around him. Then his head connected with his window and he couldn't think of much else.

He felt pain everywhere, so much he didn't want to move. How was he even still alive? How was it possible to bear this much pain? This was utter hell! Please... please someone make it stop... someone help...

* * *

"Are they allright?"

"Who got hit?"

The crowd pressed farther into the police line to get a better look as the EMT's rescued two broken and mangled bodies from their smoking husks of cars, the grey chevrolet doused by a nearby firehydrant to extinguish the flames.

"Is that Paul Mccartney?"

"Oh my goodness that's Paul Mccartney!"

"Ma'am please step back!"

The crowd had identified one of the bloody messes that the EMT's scrambled to save. The man from the gray smoking husk was barely alive, the front of his car having crumpled to meet him full force. They had hope for the second body, the one the crowd was sure was Paul Mccartney. He laid out on the asphalt, bleeding and broken as the EMT tried to get him to open his eyes.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

"His vitals are dropping fast."

"Get the paddles!"

"... CLEAR!"

"Again."

And it continued until finally a pulse was detected and he was bandaged enough to make it to the hospital. Weeping females watched as the Cute Beatle was loaded into an ambulance and taken away, leaving the broken and bloody sight.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where is he?" John asked as another hour ticked by and Paul still had not shown up at the recording studio. George tightened a string on his guitar and shrugged. Ringo timidly tapped at his drums, practicing for the song they'd been set to record that day. Or they would have, if they hadn't sat there waiting for their bassist and the song's writer to show up.

"I'm calling the Asher's again." John decided, getting up and walking towards the door again. George and Ringo watched him go before turning to face eachother. Neither had a clue of what could have happened to their fourth member, the only thing that had ever kept him late was a bird, and Jane was supposedly the only bird that could make him late as of now. And the Asher's didn't have a clue as to where Paul could have wandered off to now.

John emerged a moment later, red in the face and brooding.

"They didn't even answer this time!" He complained.

"Well with you in that mood neither would I." George shrugged, "Protecting their eardrums and all. Can't really blame 'em." John snarled at the lead guitarist but was distracted when George Martin sighed and announced from the sound booth they'd just have to do without Paul today.

* * *

_Beep... Beep... Beep..._

_Beep... Beep... Beep..._

_Beep...Beep..._

_...Beep..._

_..._

It was bright white, blindingly bright.

And so... so painful.

All he knew was he was laying down, he was alone, and it was getting colder and colder as he lay there, his life literally flowing from his injuries.

It hurt so much... he wanted so badly for it to be over... for something to feel okay again...

Oh please make it stop!

"Sweet heart?"

A warm, gentle hand took his cold one, holding it tight and pressing it's twin to the other side of Paul's hand. Moving his arm hurt so badly, but the sweet voice trickling into his ear and the warm loving hands on his made it allright somehow. Made the pain somewhat bearable. And as a pair of warm, familiar lips pressed to his bloody, scratched forehead, he felt better and better. The pain driving downward and out of his body. The light began to recede somewhat, and a shadow became identifiable as a real person.

"All better?" That same voice asked and as Paul lay there, his eyes became hot and moist. His throat was killing him, but he managed to whisper,

"Mother?"


	3. Chapter 3

The Ashers were perhaps the most somber group in the waiting room of the ER. Mr. Asher and his wife attempted to comfort their daughter, who was staring at the ground, lost to the world as her eyes overflowed with tears.

"Paul Mccartney?" A doctor in purple scrubs called and about half the room turned to look at him while the Asher's rose.

"He's suffered extensive trauma, and I'm afraid he's slipped into a coma." The doctor said and Jane squeaked as the tears came faster, "He's in ICU if you wish to visit him now. We've repaired everything but now all we can do is wait and see."

Jane nodded vigourosly as her mother tried to say different, "I want to visit him now please."

"Honey I don't thing you're in a state to see him." Her mother tried to argue.

"I don't care! Paul doesn't care how I look, I want to see him!" Jane cried before turning to the doctor, "Please take me to him."

* * *

The second day of Paul not showing up sent steam out of John's ears. Before anyone could stop him he was driving towards the Asher's, muttering how the song they were trying to record was Paul's and how it was just stupid to have to pull him off his bird when John could be doing the same thing by now if it weren't for Paul's nonsense.

He pulled up to find an empty driveway and a dark house despite it being one o'clock in the afternoon.

Despite this, John knocked on the door anyway, getting no answer. Confused, and now a little concerned, John looked around for some clue of a struggle and found none in the yard. Maybe they were playing a joke? A stupid joke but a joke...

Unsure of what to do next, John groaned and drove back to the studio, ready to murder Macca.

* * *

He was still in pain whenever he moved, still saw blood red stars when he tried to sit up. So instead his head was cradled on his mothers legs as she knelt down to hold his head with one hand, his hand with another. She whispered lullabies to him as he moaned. At one point he felt the tears overwhelm him and she comforted him as he cried, much like when he was a small child.

"It's okay sweetie." She said as Paul looked up at her with pain and fear in his eyes.

"Where am I?" He whispered through a dry and probably wrecked throat.

Mary Mccartney smiled and shrugged, "Limbo?"

Paul was sure he felt his heart stop, "I'm dead?"

"Not quite... or atleast, not yet." Mary said soothingly.

"Mom... what's happening to me?"

"Well, right now you're being held by your mother. As for the rest, I'm not all that sure." She said, eyes bright and assuring.

"I'm cold..." He mumbled, so scared and fatiqued he was sure he was begining to regress in the arms of his mother. The mother he hadn't seen since he was a child, the mother he'd lost to cancer.

"Paulie..." Mary stroked his hair in an attempt to be comforting and squeezed his hand gently, "It's allright."

"Mother... why are you here?"

"To help."

"With?"

"Well, that depends on you." She said, kissing his forehead as another mild wave of pain wracked his body, "On your choice."

"My choice?"

"Yes, your choice to live or to die."


	4. Chapter 4

Jane held tight to her boyfriend's bandaged hand. Every inch oh him was scratched, brusied, or bandaged. His skin had taken a worrying gray tone and his hair was becoming greasy and matted. The respirator attatched to his mouth and the monitors connected to him were the only sounds in the room.

And to Jane, they sounded like death.

Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, waking her from her trance like state if only for a moment.

"We're going to go home for the night. We'll bring you a change of clothes in the morning." He said gently, and all Jane could do was nod.

* * *

John couldn't find Paul at the flat, in any of the bars or brothels (which he hurried from both as soon as this was discovered... he swears) and now he was again turned down as he checked the studio that morning. George and Ringo had arrived on time, only to be treated to a lecture of how Paul had pulled off a great disapearing act and forgotten to magic himself back!

"I'm going back to the Ashers, they must be back by now!" He roared, swiping his car keys back up.

"And if they're not?" George asked.

"I'll throw a rock through Paul's window!"

* * *

_ Knockknockknock! Bambambambam!_

"Yes what is it?" Mr. Asher cried, throwing open their door which was being abused by John's fist.

"Oh _finally!_" John cried towards the cloudy sky before turning to look at Mr. Asher, "Where the bloody hell is Paul? It's been three days now with no word and-"

Mr. Asher paled, "Oh dear, I'm so sorry... with the sudden rush I guess we just forgot to call."

"What has he taken sick?" John asked, angry but a little unnerved by Mr. Asher's manor. He seemed to be between distraught and anxious.

"Paul... Paul was in a car crash three days ago. We only found out yesterday."

"What?" John suddenelly felt lightheaded... his body going numb and his ears buzzing with the impossible truth.

"According to what I've been told, Paul was hit by a speeding car. He... he slipped into a coma during the surgery." Mr. Asher's fingers were trembling against the wood of the door.

"N... No..." His own mother was killed by a car... and now his best friend...

"We were just leaving if you wanted to-"

But John was already gone.

* * *

He could sit up now. The pain was becoming a dull throb.

In fact he was much more comfortable where he was, sitting in his old house, at the kitchen table he'd sat at as a child.

Mary sat before him, grasping his cut and bruised hands. He was sure he still looked like an accident victim but hey, one a mother could love.

"What's going on?" He finally thought to ask.

"Well dear, it seems you're slipping farther into your coma."

"C-coma?!"

"It's allright it's allright, be calm James." Mary said, running her fingers over her son's hands, "It doesn't matter, you'll be allright."

"What if I die?" Paul whispered.

"Well you'll be allright then too." Mary smiled, "Sweetheart it's okay. Heaven is okay, as you can see I'm perfectly happy."

"But... but what if I don't make it to heaven?"

"James Paul Mccartney." Mary sighed, "Always the worrier."

Paul smiled sweetly, "I missed you mom."

"And I missed you too sweatheart."


	5. Chapter 5

John was very pale and very shaky entering the hospital. Anyone watching him could see he was not allright. 

He'd been so angry with Paul for not showing up... and now he knew it was because the bassisst was lying at death's door! John felt sick and guilty, it hadn't been Paul's fault. He knew that now.

"Paul... Mccartney?" John asked the nurse at the desk. She took one look at him and waved him in the right direction. John had to keep from running all the way there. Had to stop himself from thinking that Paul would be dead before he even entered the room. He was in a coma... there was still a chance for him to survive.

Jane was there, still holding tight to her lovers hand, still crying. The beeps and sighs of the machines surrounding his best friend punctured the silence as John entered and intruded on the scene. John didn't want them there, they didn't belong. All they did was remind everyone that Paul was... he had a chance...

John couldn't even think the word.

"Jane?" She jumped at John's voice but smiled when she looked up at him. She hurriedly wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, adjusting her grip on Paul's cut and bandaged hand.

"Hullo John... was wondering when you'd show up." She said, her voice thick with tears.

John nodded, "Finally told me... when Paul didn't show up for the third day in a row I..." But his sentence was never finished, his ability to form words and say them lost as he finally looked over at the hospital bed.

Paul was deathly pale, making the angry red scratches and scars stick out along his face and the exposed parts of his arms. A neck brace was attatched to his neck, making his head fall to the side in what looked to be an uncomfortable angle. Everything else was bandaged or covered by the hospital gown. The respirator along with about a dozen different color wires were attatched to him, making him look like some weird science experiment or something.

"Horrible isn't it?" Jane said, her quiet voice bringing John out of his horrified trance, "I broke down the minute I saw all... this."

John nodded numbly, still finding it difficult to use his voice. He sat down on the other side of Macca's bed, hands shaking in his lap as he watched his best friend breathe with the help of a machine.

* * *

Jane finally thought to call the others sometime later, John still practically catatonic as he sat beside the comatose bassist.

George and Ringo were silent as they enter, George clutching to Ringo's arm tightly. As John turned to acknowledge their presence he felt the emotions finally bubble up in the pit of his stomach. It was finally sinking in: he could lose yet another person in his life. The world just couldn't be satisfied until he was completely alone could it? The universe just loved to watch him squirm.

Angry, hurt, confused, tired, sick, scared... it was to much. John stood and somehow walked to the door of the room, somehow didnt crash right there and start crying.

He wasn't aware he was in his car until he'd started the engine.

This was the kind of machine that tried to kill Macca. Disgusted, he shut the car off and slammed the door open, deciding he'd prefer to walk. To where he didn't know, just walk.

The streets were bustling with to many people, the lights from the steet lamps to bright, the noises from the car horns, the chatter, the sounds of footsteps on concrete grating on John's ears.

He didn't start to even think clearly until he'd reached the neighborhoods, the dark quiet soothing compared to the hustle and bustle that wouldn't leave him alone to think.

And John could only think about Paul. He'd been so mean to him lately, so ready to fight during recording sessions. Paul could be a perfectionist little prick at times... but John didn't want him gone. He didn't want to write all the songs by himself. Hell, he didn't even want to write the songs with George and Ringo. He wanted to write with Paul. He wanted to goof off with Paul, wanted to be a Beatle with Paul. He'd been with him in this dream of starting a band the longest... it would be wrong to continue without him.

* * *

Paul tapped his fingers rythmically on the tabletop, like he was playing a piano to a song. Something slow and pretty, something that would remind him of his mother. He chewed the inside of his cheek, tears coming to his eyes again. He'd missed this woman so much. He'd lost her when he was only a teenager. Before everything had happened, before he'd met Ringo or John or George. He'd had his father, his brother, and his mother.

Everything had been perfect then, the music from his fathers records or the radio, his mother encouraging him as he switched from the trumpet to the guitar, telling him he could do better than she and his father had done. That he could go farther.

Mary smiled at him, "You and Micheal and Jim, it's the only thing heaven's missing Paul." She said as they talked, Paul told her what was going on even though she knew already. She'd watched over him like a mother should.

"Then how's it heaven mum?" Paul smiled and Mary screwed up her face, thinking.

Then she smiled and shrugged, "I guess it just is huh?"

Paul smiled and squeezed her hand, "It's not heaven mom, atleast it wouldn't be to me."

"What would you call it then?"

Paul shrugged, "Dunno, not Heaven though. Atleast, not until we got there."

"So... does that mean you're comin' back with me then?" Mary asked.


	6. Chapter 6

John somehow found his way back to the hospital that morning, tired, sweaty, and eyes bloodshot. George was sitting in his chair beside Macca's bed, head lowered onto the bed and asleep. John could see the remnants of tear tracks streaking downward along his face. Jane was on Paul's other side with his hand still clutched in hers, head in her free hand and also asleep. Only Ringo had disapeared. 

John collapsed in one of the other empty chairs, eyes heavy and yet sleep wasn't coming anytime soon. He'd walked all night, and somehow nothing had been solved. Paul was not miraculously sitting up in bed awake. The world had not returned to a simpler time. Nothing was made easier for John in any way.

"Mornin'." Ringo said, his deep voice cutting into the silence. He held a bag and a tray of coffees in his hands. Out of all of them, he was the cleanest and best groomed at the moment.

"Where 'ave you been then?" John asked tiredly.

"Couldn't watch," Ringo shrugged, "Besides I seem to be the only one thinking clearly what with you disapearing and everyone else acting like he's already dead."

"Already dead?" John spat.

"Calm down John, you know I don't think-"

"It sure sounds like it!"

"John seriously, calm down. Don't wake George and Jane by screaming. Besides, do you think Paul wants this here, right now?"

Those seemed to the magic words, John paused, glaring intensly at Ringo but staying quiet.

"Just leave." He finally huffed.

"Fine, have to call Brian anyway." Ringo said, trying to remain calm. Someone had to. John obviously wasn't going to, and neither where the Ashers. And Paul was like a big brother to George, who had never lost anyone close to him since Stu died. He wasn't a veteran of hard times. There was no way he was going to be properly functioning at the moment.

Ringo set the bag of food and the coffees down and turned and walked out the door, "I'll come back a little later okay?"

John snarled as he left, turning back to watch over Paul.

* * *

Paul bit his lip, unsure. Live or die?

Die, and be with his mother again. Never feel pain again, possibly never feel anger or frustration or annoyance. Never have another bad thing happen to him for all eternity. Just die and be safe in his mother's arms, see Stu aain, meet Buddy Holly maybe.

Or live... wake to horrendous pain he'd been begging to go away for what felt like forever. Face the frustrations of day to day life with John and the others in the recording studio. Or whenever he made Jane mad or sad or embarressed. If he lived, would he face more pain? This, this dull throb still inside him reminded him of the accident. That was already enough pain for a life time for him. Hell, that was hell for him.

He looked at his mother, his beautiful, perfect mother. And bit his lip.

"Do you remember that time... when I destroyed the family Christmas ornaments on accident and tried to write a letter to Santa begging him to make me one of his elves so I wouldn't get in trouble?" He was as scared now as he was then.

"Yes." Mary smiled kindly, her eyes shining.

"And... and when you found out you didn't yell or nuthin', just said it was an accident and I could move on."

"Well what was I supposed to say? It was Christmas, and you were allready upset enough as it was." Mary said, leaning over to brush her son's dark bangs out of his hair.

"Well, do you also remeber when I grew frustrated playin' me guitar and you said I could do it, that I could go farther than you or dad."

"And you have. I'm so proud." Mary said, smiling.

"My friend John, you don't know 'im but he's my closest friend. Helps me write the songs we sing an' all that. He always asked us where we were goin'. To the toppermost of the poppermost we said." Why was this such a hard decision?

"That's quite an ambitious friend you have their." Mary said.

Paul laughed and he felt something inside him snap.

Die, and be seperated from John, George, and Ringo for a long time. Watch them grow old and lead their lives while his was cut short. They'd die and have so many amazing stories to tell when they finally reached him again, and all he'd have are the memories they already shared. Die and watch them, and his family, and Jane and the Asher's suffer through losing him. Die and watch John lose yet another important person to his life. Ironically almost the same way he'd lost his mother. That was how they bonded actually, losin' their mothers...

Or live... and see their smiling faces a few more times?


	7. Chapter 7

George woke up sometime later when the doctor was attempting to check on Paul. Jane was still sitting on the other side and John was watching through tired eyes. When he noticed George blink awake and lift his head from the hospital mattress he stood and got George to transfer to the empty chair next to the one he'd been sitting in.

Ringo walked in seconds later, not looking at John but taking his abandoned seat.

"I believe you stole my seat Georgie." John said dryly, a tight smile briefly appearing across his face. George sighed and propped his elbow on his knee, laying his head in the open hand. He blinked tiredly, watching the doctor check over his patient, removing the neck brace and adjusting the respirator.

"How is he?" John asked as Jane reclaimed Paul's hand after the doctor was done.

The doctor, Doctor Malkins, looked up briefly from Paul's chart and sighed.

"He got lucky, the crash could have paralyzed, maybe even killed him, had the car that hit him gone any faster. He has a few fractured bones and some head trauma, but what we're worried about now is monitoring that coma."

"How long could he be under?" George mumbled.

"Who knows?" The doctor shrugged, "Only time will tell." He turned to go.

"I'll be back later." He called before quietly shutting the door.

Ringo sighed tiredly and leaned back in his chair, "Atleast he can't feel the pain." He mumbled. John shot him a dirty look and Jane glanced his way.

"How can none of this phase you?" She asked.

Ringo merely shrugged, "I've been in and out of hospitals me whole life, nuthin' really new here to me."

Jane was watching now, generally interested, "So... you've seen accident victims and coma patients before?"

Ringo nodded, "Most came out allright, so I'm not to scared about Paulie here. I was in a coma meself when I was younger. It only lasted ten days."

Jane and John were both watching Ringo now, George half-listening, half dozing. Sleeping in a chair bent over all night was not very comfortable and surprisingly exhausting.

"He'll be fine Jane, don't worry." Ringo smiled kindly before turning to John, "And I spoke to Brian, he's gonna make some sort of statement for us apparantly."

John leaned back in the chair. That was all fine and dandy with him. He didn't have much patience for the press right now anyway.

"Also, the Asher's called, they want Jane to come home for one night, they're worried your silent vigil isn't healthy on you."

Jane's cheeks colored in anger and she opened her mouth to snap when Ringo interrupted, "Which I agree, even my mother had to go home at some point. One night is all there asking. Come on, I'll drive you, I have to take George home anyway."

"No..." George mumbled, half asleep.

"You're not helpin' Macca by sleepin' 'ere Joj." Ringo said, taking his shoudler gently. George gave a weak protest but Ringo still managed to get him to stand anyway, leading him out the door as George tried weakly to squirm out of his grasp. Jane followed, looking mad and anxious. She turned to John before leaving.

"Watch over him for me will you?"

"Of course." John said, turning to look at Paul as the machines beeped around them. The door closed with a soft click and they were alone.

* * *

Paul sighed, leaning back against the kitchen table chair.

"So you've missed me all this time?"

"Without a doubt." Mary said.

Paul bit his lip, he'd missed her too...

"Will it hurt if I go back?"

Mary smiled sadly, "For awhile. But you'll get better. I don't think any permanent damage was done..."

Paul scratched the side of his face, feeling a million little cuts along his cheek with the pads of his fingertips, "Mom... Mom are you aware of things that happened to us even when you were in heaven?"

Mary nodded, her face becoming curious yet serious.

"So you know," Paul could feel the tears building, "When dad told us you were dead... and I blurted out 'What are we going to do without her money'?"

"Sweetheart-"

"I wasn't thinking Mom... and for years I worried that... that if you did know what was going on... that you were hurt by what he said."

Mary was watching her son now as the tears in his doe eyes threatened to spill over onto his cheeks, "Paul..."

"Mom, I always wondered if I'd made you mad or something and... and when I was younger I thought maybe you wouldn't even wanna see me when I went to heaven."

Mary hurried to her son's side, hugging his head to her chest and silencing him as the tears did finally spill over, "Nothing could ever make me not want to see you James Paul Mccartney." She said, "I love you to much for that."

Paul was quiet and still for a moment, then he wrapped his arms around her, "I love you too Mom."

* * *

It was quiet, even with the beeps and sighs of the machines. And despite what Ringo had said about Macca being allright, John wasn't so sure.

"You know Ringo thinks you're just gonna wake up and everything'll be allright." He told the bassist, feeling a bit awkward since it was like he was talking to a wall.

"And George is pretty worried, I forgot you too had that brother-like relationship. Ringo had to force him out the door so the poor bloke could get some proper sleep. Same with Jane, she asked me to look after you by the way."

He was just rambling now, the feeling of someone talking taking the edge off John's emotions.

"Beatles wont be the same without you, so Ringo better be right. You better wake up Macca. I don't think we'd attract as many fans without that baby face and birdy-eyes to plaster across the record sleeves."

That sounded a bit mean, especially when the baby faced, birdy eyed bassisst couldn't defend himself so John was quick to move on with his ramblings.

"Also, you know, we'd probably miss you. I know George and Jane would. Ringo too... And writin' wouldn't be all that fun without you. It'd become like actual work I guess."

That still sounded a bit wrong, a bit empty. What if Paul could hear him? Would he be hurt that John only saw him as a distraction from the dull and boring?

"You really scared us... me." John admitted, "That third day when you didn't show up to the studio? I was mad as hell but also a little scared. I worried something mighta happened to you... I mean, something did, but my point is, I started thinking about how much this band means to us... all four of us. I don't think it'd be as great if there were just three. Or we replaced you. I kinda hope we can avoid that when you do wake up. But Brian... oh geez he can be slave driver sometimes can't he Macca?"

Still no reply from the bassisst but John was to comfortable in rambling to let that bother him anymore.

"I don't think I'd let him replace you Macca, even if you died-which you better not! I'm just making a point here. I don't want no tests of friendship or nuthin' right now, I don't think that'd be very nice." John smiled, "I mean it though, I wouldn't let him replace you. I don't want any other bassist Macca. The bassist is supposed to be my best friend."

John sighed, "I must sound like some old bird over her sick grandson..."

There was a muffled mumbling and John frowned, knowing he hadn't made the noise. Excitedly, he looked at Paul, seeing his eyes slowly open maybe a crack.

Paul mumbled something again, but it was muffled by the respirator. Carefully, John pulled it from his friends mouth and asked, "What was that?"

Paul grinned tiredly and croaked, "I said, I can see the gray hair and everything."

John grinned, before taking on a high pitched falsetto, "Oh my darling grandson, all tucked up in his wee bed and-"

"Yeah it wasn't an image I wanted in the first place." Paul laughed.

John took on a pose, "You mean you don't find yer grandmummy fine to look at?"

"I think my grandmother looks rather nice, you on the other hand would be rather terrifying."

"Well," John said in mock offense, standing up and pretending to smooth his skirt, "See if I ever visit you again you selfish bugger."

Paul smiled weakly and John grinned before switching to his normal voice, "I'll go tell the doctor you're awake."


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the hospital visit was practically a blur to Paul, one of the only significant moments being when George ran ahead of Ringo and nearly tackled the aching Paul in his bed, crying and holding him close.

"Don't you ever get in another crash again you understand?" He said, holding tight to Paul who tried to squirm into a more comfortable position.

"Promise, my crashing days are done." Paul grunted as John and Ringo snickered in the doorway. These brother relationships were fun to watch, and as Paul silently begged them for help they could only laugh and shake their heads.

The other only memorable moment was when Jane seemed to copy George exactly and ran ahead of her parents to tackle Paul in his bed.

"Don't you ever get in another crash, do you hear me?" She cied, kissing him as teas spilled down her cheeks.

"Already promised George me crashin' days are over love." He said in between having his lips stolen from him every few seconds.

The three other Beatles and the Asher's snickered as Paul silently begged for help behind his girlfriends back, only helping after he turned blue from her hugging his neck to tight.

The rest of the visit was an endless blur of sleep and nurses and doctors prodding and poking his already aching injuries. The day he was released John stood with Jane in the door as a nurse eased Paul into a wheelchair. Jane carried his things and John pushed him down the hallway, being sure to point out every pretty nurse they passed and poke Paul in the shoulder excitedly, trying to get him in trouble with his girlfriend. (And it didn't help when half the nurses John began to go ape over would smile and bat their eyelashes at Paul.)

Getting to the car was an adventure in of itself. Girls and reporters filled the parking lot, screaming and carrying signs wishing Paul well and proclaiming their love for the Beatles.

"Aww they still love you." John sighed before taking a hard left and rolling Paul out a different entrance, covering his head with his jacket. Blinded, all Paul could do was hold tight as John banged through a set of doors and through a smaller crowd of screaming teenage girls towards a car.

"What would you do without me?" John sighed as they got in and the car began to slowly roll away. Paul threw John's coat from his hair and began trying to smooth it back down while Jane giggled.

"Have a better hair day?"

"Nonsense!" John cried, "I have the best hair out of all of us! No one cares to gaze upon your greasy locks."

"That's because you wouldn't let me shower before we left."

"I enjoy your foul stench."

"I hate you..."

"I missed you too!"

* * *

John stayed at the Ashers with Paul most of the day, lounging on the couch and drinking beers while watching the television and strumming guitars. Some of the sounds they produced sounded like potential songs, others were discarded moments after they were played. Most was forgotten seconds after they started playing something new, and Paul wished it were easier for his aching body to move so he could try out the piano. But he was still content to sit there beside his best friend and play his music.

Only later in the evening when Jane stepped into the kitchen with her mother for a moment did the conversations turn serious.

"So, what was it like?" John asked, setting down his beer on the coffee table with a loud _thunk!_

"What was what like?" Paul asked.

"When you were in the coma. Did you know what was going on? Were you dreaming the whole time?" John asked.

Paul bit his lip, should he say he got to see his mother again? When John clearily missed his mother much, much more?

"Well... it was really painfull... and really bright."

"So you saw the light?" John asked, the grin on his face was replaced with an awestruck look.

"Yeah... actually, I saw it right after the crash... when the paramedics pulled me from the wreck and I was on the pavement. I saw this bright light and I though I could escape from the pain in it."

"You went towards the light?" John whispered, "Everyone says not to do that!"

"I wasn't thinking Johnny," Paul shrugged, "Besides, I didn't end up in Heaven."

"Where did you end up?"

"I guess Limbo? It was bright white, but I was still injured. I couldn't move for the longest time."

"Did you see anything?"

"That was hard too." Paul said quickly, "I saw... a bunch of shadows." Paul said. He couldn't tell John... He would kill him! Or it would kill John. That interested, wide eyed look would shatter into anger and possibly tears... and that would make John extra angry.

No, he was going to protect his friend. Seeing his mother was going to be his secret.

For John.

"So, could you make any of the shadows out?" John asked, snapping Paul back to reality.

Paul shrugged, "If I did, I don't remember. Anyway, I blinked a few times and woke up to you talking. Not very exciting right?"

"No I guess not, but hey this whole mess has helped with a few new ideas I've been putting together." John said, getting excited over the new subject.

"Like what?"

"Well it's this weird song I was thinking over in the shower but it the whole idea was like it would be about a day in the life of a regular londoner..."

And the evening continued, Paul glad to see John focused on something other than where Paul was while he was lying unconcious in that hospital bed.

And as Mary watched from Heaven, she was glad to watch her baby boy go on to achieve his dreams...

* * *

**And thus concludes my second Beatles story. I know I know it has a corny ending, but in my defense I'm not to good at endings :p  
Anyway, some ending notes: I was actually inspired to write this from the Criminal Minds episode the Fisher King Part 2 where Elle's talking to her father who's been dead since she was a little girl. I usually abuse George but Paul seemed the perfect person for this story (since we all know John would choose to die to be with his mother... probably...). I didn't even think about the Faul theory until I was a few chapters in! Whoops!**

**Anyway, thanks for reading!=^-^=**


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